Sinful Affairs by Sandra Marton

Author:Sandra Marton [Marton, Sandra]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-1-74290-202-9
Publisher: Mills & Boon Special Release
Published: 2011-03-15T00:00:00+00:00

Wasn’t it Alice who’d gone through the looking glass?

This time it was Layla.

The clerk led them to an enormous room. Khalil settled into the corner of a white sofa that faced a curving wall of mirrors behind a raised, round platform. A very young woman, not wearing a black suit but a black dress, appeared as if by magic with a tray that held a carafe of coffee, cream, sugar and a translucent porcelain cup and saucer. A copy of the day’s International Herald Tribune was already on the coffee table.

Layla was led past the mirrors to a room only slightly smaller than the one in which Khalil waited.

“If mademoiselle would kindly undress …”

The clerk held out a white dressing gown. Layla thought of refusing it, of refusing to take off her clothes but she had the awful feeling the clerk would do whatever it took to make her follow the order. So she glared at the woman, even though it was the man waiting in the other room who deserved the glare, unlaced the clunky shoes and unzipped the jeans.

The clerk rewarded her with a beaming smile.

“Bien, mademoiselle,” she said, and vanished through the door.

Layla was wrapped in the white dressing gown by the time she returned. And the parade of Gorgeous Stuff She Could Never, Ever Afford began.

Dresses. Blouses. Trousers. Jeans. Sweaters. Coats. Handbags and shoes and belts and, yes, underwear. Frothy thongs and lacy bras that made her want to sigh with wanting them.

There were no price tags on anything, but Layla wasn’t fooled.

“Don’t you have anything simpler?” she kept saying, meaning, “Don’t you have anything I can afford?”

The clerk ignored her and, eventually, Layla gave up asking.

She was dressed, undressed, dressed, undressed. Six times. A dozen. And each new outfit meant she had to go out and stand on the round platform in front of all those mirrors.

In front of Khalil who sat, arms folded, looking like the potentate he was, nodding yes, no, shrugging his shoulders and occasionally offering a series of very unpotentatelike thumbs-ups.

And several very sexy, very masculine nods of approval.

Just having him looking at her that way was almost like having his hands on her. When she stepped on the platform in the final outfit, a long, slender column of silver silk and silver stiletto sandals, their eyes met. He rose, uncoiled from where he sat, came to her, ran his thumb lightly over her bottom lip and said, very softly, that she looked beautiful. Her knees almost buckled but she’d hung on to enough common sense to whisper that she couldn’t afford anything she’d tried on.

“We will talk of it later, habiba.”

“There’s nothing to talk about!” She looked over her shoulder; the clerk smiled, then quickly looked away. “Do you have any idea what these things cost?”

“I have an excellent idea.”

Yes, he probably did. He probably had mistresses by the dozen, women for whom he bought expensive gifts from places exactly like this, and why on earth should that put a

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